


A Hidden Desire

by emera_jade



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2635538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emera_jade/pseuds/emera_jade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something had compelled Dr. John Watson to agree to become flatmates with the strange sociopath Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and proper genius. However, after a year some strange feelings have surfaced and it's only so long before they are forced to face the facts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hidden Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my first openly smutty Johnlock on here. It was my first one and so it's quite awkwardly written. None the less, I didn't edit it from it's original posting, just moved it over here from Quotev. Enjoy :)

“John...” silence filled the flat at 221b Baker St. “John.” silence again. Sherlock didn't move from his place on the sofa, his eyes remained closed. A soft summer breeze drifted through the open window at the foot of the sofa, rustling the many papers that littered the flat. Summer in London was slow to come and quick to leave so every warm day counts in what was once called the Season. Soft sun light fell on Sherlock's face, highlighting his sharp features and casting the rest into dark shadows.

 

Watson's phone buzzed. He checked it and rolled his eyes at the message. 'Watson I have a lead. Come at once.'

“who is that?” he looked up.

“Hm? Oh, just a college of mine. It isn't important.” his phone buzzed again. And again. And again. He looked up at his date. “I am so sorry but I'm afraid I need to cut our date short.” she smiled tightly but understandingly as he paid the bill and left the little cafe, hailing a cab.  _The one day I think we don't have a case of pressing importance and he still finds some reason to call me back,_ he thought as he climbed into the cab.

“Where to gov'?”

“221b Baker St. please.”

 

Sherlock stood at the window, watching Watson pay the cabbie. Watson climbed the stairs and saw Sherlock standing at the window. “ What have you discovered that was of such great importance that you had to pull me from my lunch date?” Sherlock spun round and was grinning like a maniac.

“everything, Watson. Everything.” he dashed around the flat, connecting papers and jabbering at top speed. Watson sat on the sofa, letting the words wash over him. This would happen every time Sherlock got a case. The words were like a series of waves, gently washing his thoughts away until all that remained was Sherlock's voice.

“-son. Watson are you listening to me?” Watson jerked his head up, almost smashing his forehead into Sherlock's nose. At the small distance between their faces Watson could see every conture and angle of Sherlock's face. In a moment he took in every detail of Sherlock's face, lingering on his lips for a second longer than made him comfortable.

“um, no I- I didn't catch all of that,” he cleared his throat,” sorry what did you say?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. In the same instant that Watson had looked over his face he had done the same to Watson and had seen his reaction.

“I said that the brother did it. I called Lestrade and it's all being taken care of, why did you look over my face a moment ago?” he straightened and began to gather all the papers that the breeze from the open window had scattered into an even more jumbled mess across the flat. Watson sat, stunned at the fact that Sherlock had even picked up on the action of which he himself had barely been aware of.

“I-I didn't... I don't...” he sighed, exasperated, “I don't know.” he ran a hand through his short, ash-blond hair making the sunlight that fell on it from the open window dance and for a strange instant Sherlock found himself mesmerized by the sight. He dumped the papers in a stack on his desk. He spun around, looking at the flat before his gaze settled on Watson.

“Are you attracted to me?” Watson's head snapped up and he laughed in surprise.

“Pardon? Attracted to- I'm sorry but, what are you on about?” Sherlock crossed the room in a few brisk steps and put his hands on either side of Watson's face. Watson froze in wide eyed surprise. His hands froze in their path to push Sherlock's hands away from his face. His heart froze for a split second before exploding into a sprint. The breeze from the window caused the curtains to swim in the air, changing the light shadows on Sherlock's face into living things that made his face come alive with something hidden. Sherlock's hair moved gently in the breeze and Watson was hypnotized by his seemingly icy, depth-less blue eyes. His legs shook slightly and his lips trembled. Sherlock slowly leaned closer and closer to Watson. There faces were so close he could feel Watson's breath on his lips. A siren wailed from somewhere up the street and Watson jolted back to awareness.

Watson pushed Sherlock away, his face furiously red. “Are you completely mental!? Why did you...why where you... you're mental!” Watson stood and paced the room, avoiding getting within arms reach of Sherlock. He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to push the embarrassment and the thoughts out of his head. He stopped in the kitchen and leaned over the kitchen table.  _Why the hell did he just do that? And why the hell was I just going to let him?_

Sherlock didn't move. He watched Watson walk around the flat and for the life of him he didn't understand why he was in such a fit. It was the logical conclusion of the facts. John had always been a good friend, a caring friend. He had never understood why but it was a comfort to know that John would be ready to help him, no matter how inept. “John. John why are you in such a fit?”

“Why am I having a fit?! Why?!”

“Yes John, that is what I asked. Why must you repeat what I say?”

“I am having a  **fit** because you asked me if I was attracted to you then tried to  **kiss**  me! I believe that is grounds for a fit!” Watson snapped, slamming his palm against the table. A beaker fell from the table and smashed against the floor. “Shit,” Watson said, all energy and anger drained from his voice. He bent to pick up the glass. Sherlock walked into the kitchen and stooped to help.

“Fine mess you've made now John,” Sherlock said idlely as he swept his hand across the glass and slit his palm open.

“Oh, Sherlock, you can be so stupid sometime. Sit you idiot,” Watson said as he pushed Sherlock into one of the kitchen chairs and went to get the first aid kit. Sherlock sat in the chair and smirked at how well his simple plan had worked. He wiped his smile from his face as Watson came back and set to work dressing his hand.

Watson knelt down and settled into the familiar mind set of cleaning and dressing a wound. He was so absorbed in his work that he didn't notice Sherlock's face slowly getting closer. ”Well, that's all I can do so be careful unless you want stitches,” he put the rest of the things back in the bag. “now, I'll jus-” he looked up and was interrupted, mid-sentence, as Sherlock pressed his lips to Watson's.

Watson was frozen again but this time his heart did not freeze, it burst into a frenzied pounding. Sherlock cradled Watson's head, holding it still. Watson couldn't move. He tried to pull away but Sherlock's hand prevented it. Sherlock wasn't forcing anything beyond the kiss as it was, no tongue, no other touching, just a kiss. But it wasn't just a kiss. It was stronger than somehow. His hand raised of it's own accord and just as their hands touched Mrs. Hudson knocked on the parlor door.

“Are you boys home?” Watson pulled away from Sherlock and stood abruptly. He cleared his throat.

“In here Mrs. Hudson.” Watson went to put the first aid kit up as she walked into the kitchen. He closed his bedroom door behind him and dropped the kit. He leaned against the door and slid to the floor. What was wrong with him? He wasn't gay, he had been with women. So why had he let Sherlock kiss him? He put his head into his hands and began to shake. He could hear Sherlock explaining the cut on his hand to Mrs. Hudson. He closed his eyes and waited.

 

After Mrs. Hudson had left Watson was still sitting in front of his door. He had stopped shaking but he felt strange. A knock jolted him from his thoughts. He stood and opened the door slightly. Sherlock was standing there.

“Do open the door and let me in John.” he pushed his foot into the door and Watson stood firm.

“Why should I let you into my room?”

“Well, for starters, you kissed me.”

“Wha? I- you...,” he put his head in his hand. “You are insane.” he stepped back from the door and sat heavily on his bed as Sherlock pushed the door open and entered the room.

“you are attracted to me John,” Sherlock said as he slowly walked around Watson's room. A sound of shock came from Watson which Sherlock promptly ignored. “Your hands are shaking, indicative of hidden feelings that you didn't want me to see, you didn't move when I kissed you so it was something you've wanted to do for a while, and your eyes keep drifting to my lips meaning you want to do it again, have I missed anything?” Arguments piled up in Watson's mind but each one sounded like what it was, a weak excuse. He put his head in his hands and nodded.

Sherlock was a bit surprised that Watson had conceded so easily but he didn't show it. He himself had felt feelings that he didn't recognize and had been investigating the cause. He saw Watson out of the corner of his eye, watching him.

“How about a cup of coffee?” Watson looked up.

“Uh, sure. Sounds great.”

“Splendid. Black, two sugars.” Sherlock sat in the chair across from Watson's bed and picked up a paper from the floor. Watson rolled his eyes and stood, stretched, and went to the kitchen to prepare the tea. Sherlock certainly had a way of operating. It could be quite annoying but it was something that became as routine as making tea. Something was there though, something strange. He was pulled from his thoughts by the whistling of the kettle. He poured the water into a teapot and the tea began to steep as he got the cups out of the cupboard.

“Sherlock! Tea's ready and I'm not bringing it back there.” he put the tea on a tray and carried it all into the parlor. Sherlock walked into the room and sat opposite him. Watson didn't look at Sherlock who knew that something was going to happen soon.

 

The next week passed in a slightly awkward tone. Neither man was rude in any way but they both avoided getting to close to each other. Watson stayed busy at the clinic and Sherlock was Sherlock. As summer drew to a close and the familiar cold, dampness of London seeped back into the air Watson had almost managed to forget the events of the previous Saturday. Until he arrived back in the flat the week after.

Sherlock was laying on the sofa, his eyes closed, when Watson walked into the flat. Watson glanced up from the post he'd collected from downstairs and did a double take. He felt a stirring in the deepest part of his brain as his eyes skated over Sherlock's profile, cast in high contrast of light and shadow but the watery light filtering through the window.

“Are you coming in or what John?” Watson jerked from his thoughts and walked into the parlor. He dropped the post on the coffee table in front of the fire place. Sherlock opened his eyes and sat up quickly.

“I'm bored John.” He stood and crossed the room, stopping close enough to reach out and touch Watson. “Entertain me.”

“Um. Sorry what?” Sherlock stepped closer to Watson who tried to step back, only to back into the coffee table. He began to fall and Sherlock reached out, catching him by the wrist and pulling him back onto his feet.

Sherlock and Watson were less than a foot apart. Sherlock leaned closer, close enough for his breath to flutter by Watson's ear. “I am bored,” he whispered. Watson bit the inside of his mouth and closed his eyes as Sherlock wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him against the firmness of his own body. Watson's breath caught and he put a hand on Sherlock's chest, intending to push him away, but couldn't seem to muster the strength to do it.

“I'll stop if you tell me to,” Sherlock whispered. Being pressed against Watson, he could feel his accelerated heartbeat, could almost read his racing thoughts.

“Why,” was all Watson asked.

“You are my closest friend, I,” Sherlock paused and thought. “I have feelings for you.”

Watson began to tremble softly as he tried to think up a response.  _Feelings,_  he wondered,  _how can he have feelings for me? Why-_  his thoughts were abruptly cut off by Sherlock gently brushing his lips against his ear. Passion swept through Watson's body and mind, passion that he struggled to push back. His breath began to come in fitful gasps.

“Why are you doing this to me,” Watson whispered in a hoarse voice. Sherlock's lips brushed Watson's.

“I told you, I have feelings for you. Why are you always so thick?” Sherlock felt something hard against his leg and smirked lightly. He tipped Watson's head up and gently pressed his lips to Watson's.

Another wave of passion washed over Watson and he, involuntarily, moaned softly. His hand fisted in Sherlock's shirt, wanting to pull him closer but fighting the urge. He felt a multitude of emotions flooding through his mind as he felt Sherlock hardening against him. Confusion, passion, anger, happiness... lust.

Sherlock cradled Watson's face as he deepened the kiss. He gently parted Watson's lips and Watson could feel his warm breath in his mouth. Sherlock tightened his grip on Watson's waist as Watson's legs began to shake. Watson pulled back, gasping.

“Wh- why,” was all he managed to gasp out.

“still so thick,” Sherlock murmured, brushing his thumb over Watson's lips.“The case you dubbed 'a study in pink', you shot that cabbie to save me. You have followed me through every trouble and defended me. Am I wrong to think you must have feelings for me?” Watson slowly shook his head. “Then is it wrong for me to reciprocate those feelings?”

Watson tried to answer but he couldn't form the word. No. There was nothing wrong with Sherlock returning the feelings that he himself had only recently become aware of. Sherlock smirked. “There, then, is your answer John.”

 

Watson felt ready to give in to his feelings and Sherlock could sense it. Both had become quite hard and both were breathing heavily as Sherlock gently led Watson to his bedroom. He pushed Watson onto his bed, climbing onto the bed and holding himself over him. He ran his hand along Watson's collar bone and slowly began to undo each button on Watson's shirt.

Watson shook as Sherlock's fingers gently brushed against his chest with each button. He reached up and undid the button on Sherlock's jacket, pushing it off. Sherlock let his jacket fall to the floor and unbuttoned his collar. He gently kissed a trail from Watson's neck and down to his chest to his stomach.

Watson moaned softly as his muscles tightened and he felt his trousers get tighter. He began to unbutton Sherlock's shirt, running his hands across Sherlock's chest. Sherlock kissed a trail back up to Watson's neck and rasped his tongue along his jaw line, feeling the stubble under his tongue.

_What a delightful sensation,_  he mused as he ran his tongue along Watson's jaw again,  _delightful so feel such pleasure that didn't come from a case._ He ran his tongue along Watson's bottom lip before kissing him deeply. He surprised Watson by slipping his tongue into his mouth.

Watson was surprised by the bold move but both accepted and returned it. He could feel Sherlock's hands undoing his belt and trousers. As the new touch registered his hand fisted in the covers and he moaned. Watson ran his hands across Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock experimented with reactions in his mind. He moaned and was pleased that it felt right. He rolled and in a moment Watson was on top. He relaxed as Watson slowly, methodically removed the rest of his clothes with slightly trembling hands.

The last vestiges of sunlight were fading from the sky as Watson rubbed against Sherlock. The two of them rolled back and forth on the bed, touching. They did nothing more than touch but the urge was in every move they made.

 

After a while Sherlock pinned Watson's arms above his head on the bed. “I will only go as far as you lead me,” he murmured softly as his hand traveled down Watson's body. He felt Watson's muscles tremble beneath his fingertips and smiled. He traced light,tiny circles around the base of Watson's member. Watson took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. As the night marched on they found a rhythm and felt for the boarders of the other. Whispered names and stifled moans filled the flat, but only they were aware of the sounds.

 

As the sun rose over London life began to take it's pace. Families left for church, cars ran up and down the streets, and in a small flat on Baker Street Dr. Watson was awakening. Weak sunlight filtering through the window was what caused him to stir. He buried his face into the pillow and long hair tickled his nose. He brushed the hairs away without opening his eyes. He slowly became aware of his surroundings. He heard Sherlock's deep, sleep drugged breaths first. He felt a body under his arm, also Sherlock's. He slowly opened his eyes and took in the scene without moving.

Sherlock was lying next to him, sleeping deeply. The light shone off his hair and cast his eyes into light shadows making him look more human than he did when he was awake. A stray curl of hair fell over Sherlock's face and Watson gently brushed it aside. Sherlock muttered something in his sleep and shifted. Watson slowly began to go back through his memories of the night before. He wasn't sure how one would normally feel but he knew that he felt comfortable. He closed his eyes and went over the details slowly. As he thought Sherlock opened his eyes.

Sherlock had been awake for much longer than Watson. When Watson had brushed his hair back from his forehead he had felt it and clung to the sensation of his finger's on his skin. He was, for once, lost as to the cause. The cause of his feelings, the cause of his actions. Why had he felt like this? He watched Watson's face and, on impulse, gently kissed him. Watson opened his eyes slowly and saw things slowly. His eyes traced the shape of Sherlock's body under the sheets, studied the shadows on his face, and finally managed to look him in the eye.

“Do you think people will talk?”

Watson was surprised into a fit of laughter in which Sherlock joined him.

“Probably,” he replied when their laughter had died down. They shifted into more comfortable positions on the bed and talked.

“I'm still not sure as to why.” Watson said.

“I told you why John. I know you had feelings for me after you moved in and I have developed feelings for you.” Sherlock looked, very seriously,, at him. Watson's eyes skimmed over Sherlock's face and saw that it was true. He smiled and put his hand on Sherlock's. He smiled in return and took hold of Watson's hand.

“I need you to promise me something Sherlock.” Watson said, looking at the covers.

“What would that be?” Sherlock had a fair idea what Watson wanted already.

Watson looked up and in his eyes could be seen the importance of what he would say. “Don't do anything overly stupid. Promise me.”

Sherlock lowered his head because he knew that this was what John was going to say. He also knew that he could not make such a promise because he would break it.

“Please Sherlock, promise me.”

Silence...

“Please...” he whispered,” At least tell me you'll try.”

Sherlock was still for a moment before nodding. Try, he could do. But something big was coming and he feared that he would make many stupid choices. But for now he would stay as smart as possible. Until He returned.


End file.
